I caught on. Marinus is a professional leech? Emptied her coffers, then did a bunk?"

"Absolutely."

"He seems such a decent fellow."

"Secret of his success, Falco. Left her broken-hearted and bankrupt. She was too embarrassed to admit it, or to do anything about it. Between ourselves, Cleonyma and I had to lend her the fare home." When he said "lend', this good-natured man probably meant "give'.

"Is the same true of Indus?" I asked, but Cleonymus only twinkled in reply.

"Well, if Marinus is defrauding rich victims, I'd be worried about Helvia – but it looks as if he has checked her out and finds her too poor."

"Ah, Helvia!" Cleonymus was smiling again. "A woman to watch, maybe. We suspect there could be more to dippy Helvia than most people think."

I grinned in return. "You're giving me a fine expose – though tantalising! Any views on the tortured Sertorius family?" He shuddered. "And I think I can guess what you feel about Volcasius?"

"Poison."

"So what about the masterly Phineus, purveyor of dismal feasts and dirty donkeys?"

Cleonymus had stopped again, visibly out of breath. His only comment on Phineus was elusive. Interesting character!"

He was badly in need of a rest by now, whereas I had to continue with my errand to the so-called sorceress. We agreed Cleonymus would sit down here and wait for me, while I carried on in my search for the boys' water-seller, then I would pick him up on my way down. I left Nux to keep him company while he recovered.

I toiled on, leaning on my stave to help keep the legs going. The air, always clear, now seemed even thinner. Dazzling views lay below, over the city and on to the blue waters of the Gulf of Corinth, with a dark line of mountains behind, indicating mainland Greece to the north. Down on the Isthmus, I tried to convince myself I could make out the straight line of the diolkos, the ship-towing track. After a short breather, I slogged upwards again until finally I came upon what could only be the upper Peirene spring. That meant the old crone Gaius and Cornelius met was no longer on the acropolis, or I would have passed her.

I refilled my flagon at the spring. It was ice cold and crystalline, trickling over my hands in refreshing runnels as I tried to persuade the liquid to flow into the container's narrow neck.

I had met people coming down the hill, though not many. Knowing about the Temple of Aphrodite, it was no surprise to see a woman dallying by herself. She looked middle-aged and perfectly respectable – so I guessed she must be from the temple, and was one of its hard-working prostitutes. I was too old and far too wise to expect voluptuous fifteen-year-olds.

I gave her a polite smile and said good morning in Greek. She was not much to look at; well, not by my standards. That was usual in her calling. She wore a classic folded-over robe, in white, with her greying hair bound up in a bandeau. Give her a double flute and she could be on a vase – that would have been twenty years ago. She had a pot belly, flabby arms, and vacant eyes.

She was gazing out across the view to the Gulf, with a dreamy, don't-approach-me smile. I had no need for and no wish for her services. Still, it was fun to imagine what kind of tricks this worn-out minion of love would turn with the hard-bitten sailors and merchants who made the effort to come up here. Frankly, she looked far away with the nymphs.

"Excuse me, do you mind if I ask you a question?" No answer; in fact, her stony silence implied she thought me a loser with a very old

seduction line. "The name is Falco, Didius Falco." That was supposed to reassure any businesswoman; clients do not provide personal details, not unless they are local town councillors visiting venerated half-retired prostitutes for a regular appointment they have kept for decades.

My friendly request was meeting resistance; I did feel a few doubts. I even wondered if this woman was herself the so-called old water-seller. She was minus a hat, and I could see no suitable equipment with her, though a little way off there was a mangy donkey, nibbling at the barren scree in search of sustenance. He looked up at me despondently.

"If this was a myth," I suggested to the floozy, "you would be a sphinx who would issue tortuous riddles – and frankly, I'd be stuck. I rely on my wife to unravel codes…" The charm was failing. "Look, all I want is this. do you know anything about an elderly lady who sometimes sells water to travellers on their way up the crag? I just need to find out is she is still in the vicinity?"

The loopy-looking dame turned her head and surveyed me as if she had never seen a man before. In view of her supposed profession, this could not be true. Surprisingly, she answered the question. Her voice had a remote quality, but she made sense. Why do you wantlier?"

"Need to ask her about something that happened at Olympia three years ago."

She gave me a wilder stare than ever. "She has left here now."

"Thank you." I was tucking my flagon back into my belt, ready to descend the hill again.

"I am Philomela," announced the woman suddenly.

"Nightingale! Good pseudonym for a working girl." Must be a reference to her singing out convincingly as she faked orgasms.

She looked confused but made me the usual offer. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No thanks. The act of love is difficult when travelling, but my wife and I made up our losses yesterday. Sorry."

Once again I was subjected to the weird gaze. "I have no idea what you are talking about," said the so-called Philomela. Then she realised what I had meant – and I too saw my error. Oops! She was not a prostitute.

I saluted her smartly, and turned on my heel. Before either of us had time to be embarrassed, I made off hastily back down the road to Corinth.

Going down that towering crag was even harder than coming up. Different, more awkward leg muscles were stretched, and there was a constant need to avoid gaining too much momentum and tumbling. Leaning back against the gravitational force, I skipped and slithered. Pebbles slipped away beneath my feet. My flagon banged against my waist. I used my stave to steady myself; I had to dig in its point hard, for the most part fixing my eyes on the treacherous road surface. The stave was bending against my weight, so uncontrolled was my descent.

As I came in sight of the spot where I had left Cleonymus, I heard Nux. An ear-splitting edge to my dog's barks alerted me. I could see a small crowd. Although it had seemed there was hardly anyone about on the acropolis road, people had emerged from nowhere. They had come to help in an emergency.

At first I could not tell what was going on. Nux spotted me; she ran up and danced around my feet, yelping in agitation. From time to time she put her muzzle to her side, giving a brave little whine, as if she had been hurt but would not make too much of it. I raced down the last stretch. With a grim feeling, I pushed through the small group of spectators to the road's edge. Satisfied, Nux followed me; she lay with her nose on the very edge of the precipice, whining again piteously.

"Good girl. Good girl…" Talking to the dog was supposed to soothe me. Instead, as I craned over the drop, panic surged.

I was too late to join in and help. Too late altogether.

A man had gone over the edge. A chain of courageous locals were risking their lives as they struggled to reach over, using a short rope someone must have had with him. They had dropped the rope to the man below. He was clinging to a few dry bushes that had rooted in the sheer side of the hill. A line of broken foliage showed where he must have already slipped down, perhaps in stages.

Dear gods, it was Cleonymus. I recognised his rich blue tunic, then